


Left Behind

by Sigmund



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 01:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5111660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigmund/pseuds/Sigmund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From this prompt: What if when d'Artagnan climbed across the ropes in Episode one of Series two to save Lucy, he did`nt make it. What if he was shot in the shoulder and ended up falling down into the river?. The Inseparables are torn, wanting to go after d'Artagnan, not wanting to believe that he is dead, but they have no choice but to abandon him to get De Foix back to Paris. On their return to Paris, Rochefort is made a hero by Louis, and d'Artagnan is declared M.I.A suspected dead</p><p>Then completely unexpectedly, d'Artagnan staggers into the garrison, weak, sick, bearing multiple scars and injuries from being tortured in a Spanish prison, but also carrying proof of Rochefort`s treason. Can d'Artagnan`s return not only bring Rochefort down, but also repair the damage to the Inseparables relationship?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AZGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AZGirl/gifts).



> This took me forever to write and I am just coming in before I want to start a project in November. Thank you so much to AZ Girl-- she saw the first draft, made some comments and I reworked it so it was closer to the prompt. If you have given me kudos and comments in the past on my other stories- thank you very much! 
> 
> For this story-- it is AU since the eclipse episode did not happen.

There was musket fire as the Spanish came charging over the ridge even though they still needed time to cross. Athos had made it across with Lucie DeFoix, Porthos and Aramis had gotten the general to safety although he was wounded.

Athos saw Rochefort fire at the warden as he jumped on the bucket, leaving d'Artagnan waiting. The Gascon though saw the immediate peril and started to cross hand over hand until the warden grabbed on to his legs.

"d'Artagnan!" Athos yelled out as Rochefort came across the crossing.

They could see the young Musketeer trying to kick off the warden and he succeeded with the Spanish man falling away. It was a momentary victory as the rope’s fraying after heavy sudden usage began to unravel quickly, not allowing enough time for the younger man to finishing the crossing. The rope fell away. D’Artagnan hung in the air for an instant before dropping with a howl.

"NO!" Athos lurched forward with Porthos barely able to hold him back. "We've got to-"

Porthos shook him. "No one can survive that. We have to get DeFoix back to France."

Aramis was by their side. "We will honor you, my friend."

Athos took a deep breath and wrenched his eyes away from the abyss.

(())

Falling was a shock until he hit the water, crashing with force that had him hitting bottom then nothing until the intermittent gulps of air as he traveled the current into oblivion.

There were hands on him, insistent slapping to his face until he opened his eyes.

D'Artagnan did not understand, and tried to say that, but it came out a moan. The slapping continued, then the words turned into something he could understand.

“Are you a Musketeer?”

He finally understood what he was being asked. Instead of speaking in his native tongue of French, he answered in his mother’s tongue, Italian. He was rusty, but at least it wasn’t French.

It earned him a cuff to the head that stunned him enough so that he didn’t fight when they tie his hands together and attached a lead to a horse forcing him to walk or be dragged. D’Artagnan stumbled, not recovered from the fall, feeling the weight of water in his clothes. In the end he was lost his footing and was dragged up the hill, wearing holes in his clothing.

Tired, the lead was cut and he was forced to shift to a kneeling position.

“This is the Musketeer? What is your name?”

D’Artagnan looked up to see the warden, deciding son of bitch in Italian was a better reply. “ _Figlio di puttana_.”

The warden smiled. “I turned Rochefort. I will turn you. Lock him up.”

The young Musketeer fought, forcing the guards to carry him as he bucked them off until they threw him into a hole with a laugh as they shut the door, taking away the any light.

Although futile, d’Artagnan tried to mark time. Daily there was water and bread- sufficient to keep him alive, but not much else. Meals also reminded him that he was not forgotten, no matter how much he wished he would be. The young Musketeer missed his friends. There would be no rescue mission for a lowly Musketeer with no information like the General.

Sometimes he drifted, thinking about what he would be doing at the garrison with his friends, getting lost so much that he thought he could hear his friends. Their encouragement kept him going as he was pulled out of the solitary confinement into the blinding light.

Brought again before the warden, he was held up by two of the guards.

“Your name?”

D’Artagnan, being clever, decided to answer in the only Spanish Aramis made sure he knew, telling them he did not speak Spanish. _“Yo no hablo español.”_

The warden tapped his fingers. “Rochefort started like you, loyal to your boy King, but he soon understood it was better not to resist. He is an excellent spy for Spain.” The warden smiled as he said the words in French, noticing d’Artagnan’s livid reaction.

Still d’Artagnan said nothing. His silence was costly as he was brought outside and tied to a post, whipped indiscriminately and left with arms shackled high to the outdoor elements.

Eventually, he had fallen asleep with head against the pole, woken by a bucket of water thrown on him.

The torture changed on a daily basis, but the questions remained the same. The warden asked his name, to confirm he was a Musketeer.

D’Artagnan was kept away from the other prisoners, though he knew they existed by the noise and the moaning. The Gascon insulated himself, retreated into his mind thinking back to his boyhood in Lupiac, Constance, the garrison. His body bore the marks of whipping and caning with his body bruised and hurting.

Staggering to the warden’s office he was forced to sit at a table filled with food.

“Eat,” he was ordered by the warden who sat opposite.

A bowl of soup was at his place setting. Involuntarily his mouth watered. Food was not daily and it was a form of porridge or stale bread. His hand shaking he took up the spoon.

“You can go free, return to France if you answer my questions. I think you are ready to answer my questions.”

D’Artagnan was thinking about the explosion of flavor in his mouth. “I am prepared to die here.”

“That is easily within your grasp.”

The young Musketeer bowed his head and in a fluid moment grabbed the porcelain bowl and cracked it over the head of the warden to stun the man. Next, he grasped the Spaniard while breaking a wine glass, which d’Artagnan used to place at the warden’s neck. “We will be leaving now.”

“Don’t shoot!” The warden attempted to get away. “You have nowhere to go. Give up.”

The young Musketeer had a murky plan at best, but he was committed as he went down the slope with the guards following him. He got to the edge holding the warden and whispered as he pushed the warden away. “I told you I am prepared to die for France!”

The jump this time was for freedom or death, both were acceptable.


	2. Chapter 2

D’Artagnan recalled being wet and pain, then voices until they became loud and insistent. Everything was blurry, but an unfamiliar face loomed close speaking halting French.

"Your leg is broken and needs to be set."

The Gascon grunted his understanding as he attempted to wake fully without success. Once his leg was touched and pulled he opened his eyes wide for a moment seeing nothing but white.

White turned into rose then into brown wood as d'Artagnan found himself staring at a wood ceiling. He was panting. "Oh God,” he uttered drawing attention of the man tending him. The man, dressed in Franciscan robes smiled his response.

"Is here."

"Where am I?" Agony fired in his body as he struggled to move, but was steadied into place.

"Monasterio de Santa María la Real. You were found by the river."

"In Spain?" D’Artagnan asked, but knew his location. It was confirmed by a nod. "I'm not Spanish."

The friar nodded again. "I know. You're safe. We found you by the Alhama River. What happened to you?” The friar spoke French.

“Thank you. You know I am not a loyal subject of Spain.” D’Artagnan did not want to say more. He was a foreign soldier without the protection of his uniform.

The friar bent down and sat on the edge of the bed. “In your torment you spoke in French.”

The Musketeer could not control what he said while in delirium so he had to trust the friar. “I did not ask your name. I’m Charles.”

“Brother Antonio,” the friar answered. “You should rest. You are not well.”

D’Artagnan felt an incredible weight over his whole body. Being awake was difficult.

"I need to get back to France. I shouldn't be here."

"You have a broken leg, a fever, broken ribs on one side. Your body needs to heal from the rest of the abuse."

The friar made sense. The young Musketeer had no idea where he was, and travel was not even possible. All the thinking made his headache flare so he closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep.

When next he awoke he felt gritty, his throat hurt and mouth dry as he took in unsatisfying breaths. It took a moment for d’Artagnan to remember his circumstances. He turned his head although his neck felt stiff. The Gascon struggled to sit up until the same friar as earlier entered, startled to see him awake. D’Artagnan settled back into the cot.

“I am glad you are awake, Charles. You are sick with the pneumonia.. You need to eat some soup.” The monk helped him sit up and then set a bowl in his hands, then helped him lift it to his mouth. “I need to replace the poultice and tend to your back.”

This made d’Artagnan notice the pungent smell that seemed to emanate from his body, causing him to cough. The friar took away the broth to hit his back resulting him to spit up phlegm.

“Good, good,” Brother Antonio wiped his face before helping him to finish the soup.

The warm broth was invigorating, getting past the lump in his throat. "Are there others here?" Asked d’Artagnan as he was propped up on some pillows.

"Yes, you’ve been sleeping, but others have tended to you,” the monk explained rubbing the pasty mixture on his chest. “You will be our guest for a time.” Antonio pointed to the Gascon’s splinted leg.

“Thank you for helping me, but are you not taking a risk?”

The friar opened his palms. “This is a house of sanctuary.”

Being in a hostile country was not giving d’Artagnan a steadying feeling. “I need to go back home.” He missed the security of France, his brothers. The coughing that tugged at his chest gave him an overwhelming sense of sadness.

“When you are able, then there will be a way. You need to gain your health first.”

It was not a positive answer, but the only one available. D’Artagnan hoped he could trust the friar and get stronger.

(())

D’Artagnan knew he was trying the patience of the monks at Monasterio de Santa María la Real. It was unintended, he was bored as he started to recover in increments. Antonio brought him some books, but they were in Latin or Spanish. His Latin was rudimentary so the others took it upon themselves to improve it to better enjoy the spiritual while dealing with the physical. The monks also kept him in bed with Spanish lessons to help with his escape from Spain. Sometimes he would beg off with a headache or an aggravated cough as the tutoring left him wishing he could so something more physical.

Being a little more mobile helped with his nervous behavior, but with a split on his leg he needed to be careful, walking haltingly with a cane as crutches were unbearable with his healing ribs. At first the only place he felt he could be a bit helpful was in the kitchens where they arranged for him to sit with his foot propped up as he helped chop vegetables or make dough. At least his hands were kept busy.

Nothing stopped him from his worry. Worried about being discovered, worried about returning to France, worried about his friends.

With no splint he had more freedom and helped in the gardens along with repair work. It helped him gain some endurance. Yet, all the time wondering how he was going to get home, trying to ignore the trapped feeling that was gnawing at him. He had asked for a horse, but the Monastery had work horses and could not make a journey. There was no money for him to buy a horse either.

He understood about trusting in God, but too much time had already passed for supernatural intervention.

Brother Antonio found him in the stable feeding the horses. “Charles, come, I have news.” They walked backed to the monastery's gardens. “The gypsies are camped by the river.” D'Artagnan, it had been decided, was to stay inside the monastery grounds for his protection. It made him feel like a prisoner, but he was thankful to the monk who continued, “I have spoken to them and they have agreed to take you onto the border.”

“Gypsies? I thought they were all expelled from Spain?" The young Musketeer remembered as a child a gypsy man doing some metal work for his father. He had been fascinated by the man, believing the gypsy could do magic. His father had scolded him for such foolishness, pointing out the gypsy was a hard worker.

The monk nodded. “Yes, they can find no peace in Spain, but they come from time to time. I trust them. It is the best I can offer you.”

“Thank you, Brother.” D'Artagnan hugged his benevolent caretaker.

The man seemed surprised by the contact, but heartedly returned the sentiment. “God bless you, Charles.”

(())

Brother Antonio was thought of highly by the gypsies as he provided them with food and help when needed. They were also religious and asked for the monks to pray for their safety. The men in this tribe were horse dealers and sought to train some wild horses. At least it was something d'Artagnan had knowledge of so he would not stand out. It was a group of 12 including men, women and children and after camping for two weeks they set off for their next destination closer to the border with France.

It was a halting trip with d'Artagnan's patience wearing thin made worse by being in the presence of strangers. His days were filled with helping in camp and with the horses. He knew the others distrusted him, but after a month Fonso, an older man, sat down next to him while they ate.

"You are a soldier."

"How do you know that?" D’Artagnan thought he handled himself more like a farmer, his previous life. He didn’t have the strength he once had, whip thin from illness and recovery with a limited diet with the monks and Gypsies.

Fonso waved his hand to the women who told fortunes in the towns. "Come with me."

D'Artagnan followed Fonso to the back of a cart. The older man went through some belongings until he pulled out a muslin wrapped package. "We found these in the river. I want you to teach my son, Mandor."

The rapier needed to be cleaned and sharpened, but it practically leapt in his hand in recognition. It was his father's sword, which he thought was lost. The other blade must have belonged to a Spanish guard.

Mandor was an eager pupil as much as d'Artagnan wanted to be the teacher. Although no challenge, the Gascon could practice, feeling inadequate as the broken ribs, leg and pneumonia did not leave him in Musketeer condition.

By taking on new duties, there was less distrust. It also meant that Drina, Fonso's elderly mother, made it her personal mission to watch over the young Musketeer. When he developed a wet cough because of the damp weather, it was Drina who plied him with hot liquids so that his pneumonia did not relapse. D'Artagnan wondered if Aramis was related to this clan.

How he missed his brothers. Every day in his mind's eye he thought about what they were doing. D'Artagnan was concerned they believed him dead, and how they mourned him. Four months had passed, and from his calculations it would be another two before he saw Paris.

(())

"Your Majesty, we request to return to find d'Artagnan-"

Rochefort did not allow Athos to finish. "He's dead. You know His Majesty cannot allow his Musketeers to enter Spain without causing a war to break out. One life is not worth war."

Athos saw the King was being swayed by Rochefort, no matter that a dozen Musketeers were making the plea.

Louis gave a nod. "D'Artagnan served me well. He will be missed."

It was Treville who restrained Athos from going on the dais. "Athos, that's enough." The Captain whispered into Athos's ear and kept a firm grip on him to limit his movement until the King and Queen left the room.

"Let me go." Athos shook off his commanding officer. He turned to Porthos and Aramis. They had talked about going back to Spain to find their brother to at least bury his body.

"Absolutely not," Treville ordered as if reading their minds. "No. D'Artagnan would not want this."

"He didn't want to die without his pauldron either," Porthos added.

The Captain shook his head. "D'Artagnan died a Musketeer. You should remember that and the oath he took."

Truth was Athos wanted to forget and he could lose his memories in a few bottles of wine. Aramis and Porthos followed him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments, kudos and reads. This chapter fills in what has happened to the trio left in Paris.

The gypsies would not cross the Pyrenees. It was too much of a risk to be caught in France where if they were found they would be put to death. They had given the young Musketeer a horse, granted it was the unruly one named Diablo, but still it was value that was lost. "This is too much."

"How do you expect to make it to France? You need a horse." Fonso gripped d'Artagnan's forearm.

Still, the Gascon’s pride was uncomfortable with the debt. "I have no money and cannot repay you."

"You've done your work. You are part of us." Fonso had his arm around his son, who had been an encouraging pupil.

"Thank you."

"And no one will want that horse," Fonso added with a hearty laugh.

"This is true." D'Artagnan would take the pass which would take him close to Gascony. There he could refill his supplies with friends in the area and make his way to Paris. In Spain, in their travels, there had been no news of France, and d'Artagnan had no idea what he would find.

It was not a forgiving trip. The more he learned, the more he knew it was imperative he make it to Paris. Rochefort had been named First Minister with the ear of the King. When he finally made it to Paris, the garrison looked unchanged. He dismounted to walk through the gates, but they were closed when usually they were open at all times.

He studied the guards at the gate, then looked at his clothes, having an idea at his appearance. He wore a short patched cape, thinning breeches, a hat to cover his tied back hair and provide shade over his lightly bearded face. He was still too thin and worn, but surely identifiable. "Am I allowed entry, Thierry?"

The Musketeer turned towards the utterance of his name and was taking a moment to decide if the man before him was friend or foe until d'Artagnan took off his hat.

"D'Artagnan? You're dead. How…"

The young Gascon accepted Thierry's warm welcome of a strong hug. "It's a long story. I need to see the Captain. Athos, Aramis, Porthos? Are they here?" He wanted to see his brothers, assure them and himself that he had found his way home.

Thierry gestured for the gate to be opened. "No, I'll let the Captain explain."

As they walked to the stables they were gathering a crowd. The Musketeers in the garrison stopped working to welcome their lost brother. As much as they were surprised to see him, he was surprised to see the Captain mucking out a stall. "Captain?"

Treville had his back towards the Gascon. "I told you all that you need to stop . . . " The Captain put the shovel down and turned. "My God. D'Artagnan." Treville remained frozen in place before stepping out of the stall and gripping d'Artagnan's upper arm.

"Captain, is there a reason you are in the stables?" D'Artagnan was unable to find the connection.

"Because I’m just a Musketeer." Treville patted the younger man on the shoulder.

"Just a Musketeer? I don't understand." He looked towards Thierry who raised his hands.

"I'll explain once you clean up and I hear your story. Your room is still available." Treville gestured to the room on the second level.

"My room after all this time?" After more than six months away, presumed dead, he thought his room would be assigned to another Musketeer.

"I'll take care of your horse." Thierry took the loose reins.

Treville nodded. "Your room is untouched. Go up. I will be there in a minute." The Captain's gaze was relentless until d'Artagnan nodded in agreement. "Our conversation would be better with Armagnac."

D’Artagnan was more confused than ever, and could sense the former Captain was stalling. It was very troubling. Where were his friends?

(())

Porthos, Athos and Aramis had gone on patrol earlier. Once off duty, they as usual went their separate ways, avoiding each other and seeking the habits they had gotten lost in. Athos found himself drinking alone, Aramis spent time at the palace trying to see his son through Marguerite while Porthos sought his father finding disappointment.

He was lying in bed, book in one hand with a bottle in close reach waiting for him to find oblivion. The knocking on Athos’s door was something he wanted to ignore. However, there was always the hope it was Aramis or Porthos.

Instead it was another Musketeer, Marcel waiting for him. "There is an urgent matter at the garrison."

"Now?" Athos questioned. As of this morning there had been no missions, and with the King thinking less of his Musketeers plus Treville’s demotion they were rarely called on.

Marcel nodded. "I was also sent to find Porthos and Aramis. . ."

Athos waved him off. "I will find them."

Porthos was easy to find at a card game. The large man had thrown himself into gambling after DeFoix’s death led Treville to tell the truth about Belgard. Porthos was troubled that his birth father was a despicable man though he never talked about it, or perhaps they did not listen.

Athos waited until Porthos won his hand before interrupting. “We have been called for duty.”

Hearing that, the large man pulled his winnings towards him to tuck in his money bag. They did not speak until they were outside the tavern. "You smell."

"I was in my cups," Athos was honest if nothing else. It also successfully cut off any conversation. “Aramis’s presence is also requested at the garrison.”

They arrived at the palace and Porthos decided he would find Aramis. Athos was patient outside since he did not want to confront the sharpshooter anymore in regards to his contact with the Dauphin.

When they reached the garrison Thierry greeted them. “Come with me.”

They followed, going up the stairs until Athos knew the direction they were heading in and stopped. “This is d’Artagnan’s room. What is the meaning of this?”

Athos was not drunk enough to enter their lost brother’s room. He did not know if he ever would be neither had he allowed for the room to be cleaned, the belonging divided amongst the other Musketeers.

Porthos had crossed his arms and Aramis looked to the floor boards. They were all uncomfortable.

Thierry gave a bow of his head in order to acknowledge their feelings, but knocked on d’Artagnan’s door regardless. “I think you have to see to believe.”

The Captain answered the door, while Thierry excused himself. Athos hesitantly took a step in and was immediately attacked by a warm body holding him tight, pinning his arms. He blinked a few times to recover, turning his head a bit to see d’Artagnan’s profile. “How is this possible?” Athos choked out.

D’Artagnan released him and was enveloped by Porthos and Aramis, who kissed the side of his head while Porthos messed the younger man’s hair. Athos grabbed the Gascon and gave him a firmer return hug that he released then placed a hand on d’Artagnan’s cheek before letting it drop to his shoulder, but still keeping his hands on their presumed dead brother.

Aramis was wiping his eyes and Porthos kept clearing his throat. “We thought you dead, lad.”

D’Artagnan nodded his head with a huge smile. “I know. There was no way to get word to you.”

“Are you well? The fall from that height. . .” Aramis raked over d’Artagnan with his eyes as did Athos trying to see any damage..

“I am fine. I was a guest of the warden for a while until I could escape and then I was taken in by the friars at Monasterio de Santa María la Real. They tended to me and helped me find a way out of Spain.”

Athos raised a brow at the younger man’s answer. He may have been fine now, albeit thin and tired looking, but he had been injured, more than likely tortured while he was in Spanish hands.

Aramis shook his head with a water smile on his visage. “There are not enough candles at Notre Dame that can be lit, and your Spanish accent is quite acceptable.”

“Maybe let’s think about working our way through the bottle of Armagnac first.” Porthos gestured towards the bottle and the two glasses with the amber liquid inside.

The Captain smiled, placed his hands on his knees and pushed to standing. “D’Artagnan has discovered that Rochefort is an agent for Spain.”

“He was working with the warden. The plan to free Defoix was in order for Rochefort to gain the King’s favor,” the young Musketeer revealed. “I’ve heard he has been successful.”

As Rochefort had manipulated the King, been in the center of Musketeer failings, Athos never thought that he was a spy for Spain. The King had raised the count to hero status and it would difficult to topple the First Minister.

“We need a plan.” Porthos rubbed his hands together.

D’Artagnan nodded. “We’ve been talking about that and what I’ve missed the last 6 months.”

Athos frowned at Treville, who took the opportunity to move to the door. “I will leave you to talk. The stables won’t clean themselves.”

“Captain-“ D’Artagnan reached out.

“I’m glad you’re back, son.” Treville placed both hands on the younger man’s forearm before exiting.

Athos should not have been surprised that their former Captain had divulged how Athos, Aramis and Porthos had fallen to their own vices. At some point he realized they would have to fall from the lofty perch d’Artagnan had set them on. Still it smarted to be a disappointment to one more person.

“What happened here? Among the three of you? You are the inseparables.”

“What has Treville filled your head with?” Porthos frowned. He and the Captain had tested their relationship because of Belgard. Like d’Artagnan, Porthos discovered his hero was fallible.

“Your father, your drinking and your amorous activities with the Dauphin’s governess.”

“So everything.” Aramis sighed. None of them were fighting the truth.

“Why?” D’Artagnan sat down hard in the chair and slumped as if the air in the room had gotten too heavy for his bones.

“You were gone.” Athos thought of the simplest explanation. The Gascon’s loss had represented a loss of faith that the Musketeers, justice, and brotherhood would always win. Better that they had all perished together than just one of them.

“You’re the inseparables. Musketeers…I worried about you, about what Rochefort would do, but I thought you would be there for each other.” The Gascon rubbed his hair.

Athos was lost. They should have come together to mourn as a shared experience to strengthen them, not cause a rift.

“It’s my fault.”

“Aramis.” Athos knew what weighed on the sharpshooter’s mind, but thought the risk was too much for them all too bear. Aramis felt otherwise.

“At the convent I was with the Queen and the Dauphin is my son.”

“What?” It was Porthos who was startled by the news, reacting by gripping Aramis’s arms.

Athos sighed, but did not try to dissipate the tension. “It’s true. It can never leave this room.”

The Gascon looked up. “You knew.”

“I knew,” Athos confirmed. He had prayed he would be the only one who would ever have to carry the secret. “And now you know and we can all be hanged if this goes any further.”

D’Artagnan nodded. “It goes no further for me. I am sorry, Aramis. That is why you have spent so much time at the palace?”

Aramis gave a small grin. “Unfortunately, I have Marguerite’s attention.”     

Porthos dropped one hand, but kept the other one on the sharpshooter’s arm with a lessened grip as if to stay connected and give support. “You went after her and you have to let her go.”

“Less time with the Dauphin,” Athos added. He wanted to keep his brothers safe.

The sharpshooter sighed. “I will try.”

“You were all with me. What would Athos do? How would Aramis handle this? Would Porthos do this? I asked myself those questions a lot. Can you all try? I just got back and I don’t want to lose my brothers.” D’Artagnan’s brown eyes were beseeching.

Athos could not deny him. “You should know Milady is back and the mistress of the King.”

“How…”

“I can only hope she loses favor soon.” Circumstances had led for Anne to be released from her banishment under the protection of the king. Her appearance was an open sore. Milady was tenacious, but the King was fickle so at some point she would be sentaway like he had done with his other mistresses. Athos was finding it difficult to be patient.

“We knew he would go back to his old habits. We should’ve kept a better eye on you, but I was embarrassed by my father. He’s a bastard, lying snake and I came from that man.”

Athos was stunned as was Aramis and d’Artagnan who could hear Porthos’s self-loathing.

Aramis reacted quickly by giving his best friend a hug, patting him on the back. “That’s not you, my friend. You’re nothing like your father.”

“You’re honorable,” Athos started.

“And trustworthy,” d’Artagnan assisted in adding to the good qualities. The young Musketeer stood up and moved them all into a group hug.

“I guess I needed to be reminded.” Porthos sniffed before choking out, “Was this the welcome home you expected?”

They broke apart, but were stronger than ever having found themselves again. Athos could feel his course corrected.

D’Artagnan wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Less tears and more wine. Treville did not tell me about Constance?”

“She’s with the Queen, a grand friend in her confidences. Treville recommended her. Bonacieux is dead.” Aramis then continued on to explain what had happened to the dressmaker.

Athos had to rein them in. The younger man would see Constance soon enough to rekindle their romance, but first there was treachery in their midst. “Perhaps our focus should be on Rochefort.”

There was a knock on the door before Marcel came in with a tray of food. He backed out of the room leaving them in peace.

“I am losing my appetite because of that smell.” Aramis gestured to the young man’s thin outfit. “Give me those clothes. I intend to burn them.”

D’Artagnan’s hand moved to the back of his neck. “Do you still have my pauldron?”

Athos moved to the chest. There was a layer of dust on it, but Athos opened it. “It’s been waiting for you.” The count handed his protégé the wrapped leather, and the clothes he had left behind before their mission to Spain.

“Thank you.” D’Artagnan squeezed the pauldron tight with watery eyes. He placed it on the bed as he sniffed the air with a wrinkling of his nose removed the cape, vest and shirt.

Athos was amused until he saw the torture that had been inflicted on their brother-in-arms. “D’Artagnan. . .”

The marks were not a surprise to the young Musketeer, but to the others seeing them for the first time they were horrific. D’Artagnan hurried to cover them. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“That didn’t look like fine.” Athos stared at Aramis trying to will him to interfere, but the sharpshooter only gave a small nod. Their medic would corner their young brother eventually.

D’Artagnan put on his doublet along with his pauldron. “They’re healed. Nothing to be done about the scars.”

Porthos checked to make sure it was secure and righted it a bit before patting the Gascon on the shoulder. “We should eat. You’re skinny.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the end! I did not want to prolong the posting since I have a bit of craziness coming up. Thank you so much to everyone who enjoyed this story!

If this was how it would all end for Treville, then he was glad he faced it with four of his best Musketeers. The plan was to get Rochefort away from the palace and while he was away the Musketeers would have a private meeting with the King and Queen.

Although there were more and more Red Guards taking over the duties of the Musketeers, there were still some of the King’s personal guard in attendance.

The element of surprise was important so they kept d’Artagnan covered with a hooded cape.

The former Captain revealed the rest of his plan. “I was able to have one of the councilors call Rochefort away. His wife will detain him before they have a short meeting about an inconsequential matter,” Treville explained. “There will be Musketeers following him and protecting the councilman. Too many of the King’s council members have turned up missing recently.” He wanted no more collateral damage.

Henri, a Musketeer on duty at the palace met them. “This way, they are in south gardens with the Dauphin.”

The five of them picked up their pace, the Red Guards they encountered did not interfere with them. Thankfully, they had not been ordered to bar the entry of Musketeers, though it could be seen that eventually the Musketeers would not exist.

“Your Majesty, we bring news. It is imperative we have a moment of your time,” Treville announced.

The Queen’s ladies in waiting were with the King and Queen along with Milady.

D’Artagnan saw Constance who stopped to stare at him as if she knew who was behind the hood. It was ignored by the others.

The King was walking in a small area with the Dauphin, pride in his son and attempting to entertain the baby. However, Louis had little patience for anyone else. “Treville, seriously, must I dismiss you as a Musketeer? I am with my son and do not wish to be disturbed.”

“Your Highness, he made this request on my behalf.” D’Artagnan stepped forward, pulling off his hood with a shocked gasped from Constance.

The King was duly impressed, passing the Dauphin to Marguerite, the child’s attendant. “D’Artagnan? You’re dead or missing or something like that.”

“Perhaps we should hear d’Artagnan out? I want to hear about this miracle.” The Queen smiled, beckoning for the Gascon to tell his story.

“I have been in Spain and discovered the Count de Rochefort is a spy for Spain.”

“Are you addled? Rochefort is loyal and the First Minister.” Louis shook his head, quick to dismiss.

“D’Artagnan was in the same prison as Rochefort, your Highness,” Athos added as he stepped forward.

They would stand together and Treville puffed out his chest in pride as they lived the motto one for all and all for one.

The King crossed his arms in his petulant manner of protecting himself from something he did not like. “I don’t understand.”

D’Artagnan took a breath before continuing. “The warden turned Rochefort against France. It was why he was freed”

“Do I suspect you, too? How were you freed?” The king waved his hand. “Rochefort has aided France.”

The young Musketeer licked his lips. “It was not easy and I was taken in for some time by some monks who were able to secure me passage to France.”

“We saw evidence of torture on his person,” Athos placed a hand on d’Artagnan’s shoulder.

Treville bowed, unbelieving how blind their King was to the former prisoner’s state. He was not the robust Gascon from a year ago. “You pride yourself on choosing Musketeers for their loyalty and skill. They can endure much that would make others break.”

Aramis bowed his head slightly. “Your Highness, we also believe Rochefort to be a part of many plots like that which killed the Spanish ambassador.”

The former Captain watched as the Queen squared her shoulders, spared a glance at Constance before continuing, “I have been afraid of him. He holds a letter I wrote to my brother when you had gone missing before the christening. He has yet to return it.”

Milady cleared her throat, fanning herself elegantly. “The Cardinal never trusted Rochefort.”

“How do you know this?” The King placed his arms on his hips in displeasure.

Athos’s wife cocked her head to the side in amusement. “There was a time I worked for the Cardinal. His papers were entrusted to the Bishop. I am sure he will tell you the same.”

However, they did not expect the return of Rochefort so quickly and him overhearing some of their discussion. The blond bounded into the gardens with a few of his guard behind him in support. “Spreading lies,” the traitor seethed. “Your Highness this reeks of desperation. Obviously Treville will only return to your favor by discrediting me.”

Treville reined in his anger, but his voice was thick with it in even though he had controlled himself. “I serve at the pleasure of the King, but will always defend him and France with my life whether I’m Captain, Musketeer or commoner.”

“Stirring words when you are outgunned.” Rochefort gestured for the Red Guard to raise their arms at the Musketeers who replied in kind, making sure they were between the royal family and the threat.

“That’s enough, Rochefort!” King Louis complained as he was quickly losing control of the situation.

“No, it is not.” Rochefort’s rapier was held high. “The Dauphin is not your son. Isn’t that true, Lady Maguerite?”

“Not my son-“ Louis sputtered.

“The Queen had relations with Musketeer Aramis.”

Aramis stepped forward, ready to attack the accusations although Athos pulled him back. “We did not. Lies.”

“Marguerite?” The Count pressed with his eyes only on the Queen who had remained still and serene.

The governess, from what Treville had learned, was involved with Aramis. It was an odd match for the romantic Musketeer as Marguerite was usually meek and appeared downtrodden. This time her chin was lifted. “I do not know of what the Count speaks of, except he has asked me to spy on your Highnesses.”“I’ve heard enough.” Louis backed closer to the tent. “Dismiss the Guard, Rochefort.”

Rochefort shook his head. “You do not deserve to be King.”

The Musketeers stepped forward when the Red Guards did not react. “Stand down. Your King has spoken,” Athos growled.

With the tips of swords pointed at them, they put away their swords and stepped to the side leaving Rochefort alone.

Treville stood before his nemesis. At least he had respect for the Cardinal since Richelieu was a patriot not some traitor. “You are under arrest.”

However, Rochefort had other plans that did not include a trial and a hanging. He pushed Treville and set for the doorbehind him, but encountered d’Artagnan first. They all took their turns with the traitor, pent up anger at a man who was out to destroy them all, slicing him until he was on his knees.

“The Queen needs me,” Rochefort begged.

“No, I need my loyal subjects, my husband and son,” the Queen stated giving a nod to Treville.

D’Artagnan struck the killing blow.

“It’s over.” Aramis was relieved.

“Not as satisfying as I thought it was gonna be. Thought he’d put up more of a fight.” Porthos shrugged his shoulders.

“Captain? Treville?” The Queen called out, holding the Dauphin, then gesturing to the King.

Treville bowed to honor his King, the boy he had protected so that he could reign.

“Spain will need to be reckoned with and I will call on you to be Minister, but for now I ask you to take control of the Musketeers and Red Guards. It will be up to you to find a suitable replacement for the Red Guards and the Musketeers.”

“Yes, Sire,” Treville smiled. He had his men back, but there was no relief. War was a distinct possibility even though the marriage to the Queen to bring the two houses together was supposed to solve that issue. Yet, Rochefort had been successful with his infiltration plan to some extent even though d’Artagnan had ended it, but there was damage done.

((()))

“You’re alive, you’re alive. . .”

“I am.” There was only one thing left to do and that was to kiss Constance to show her he missed her, loved her, and wanted her.

Athos cleared his throat. “The King would like a word.”

“As soon as he’s done we will give your hero back.” Aramis grinned grabbing d’Artangan’s elbow.

Porthos made a little space between the reunited lovers. “Though we will need him for a bit of celebratin’.”

The Gascon allowed himself to be pulled away, but felt terrible about flaunting his love in front of a now free Constance. “Athos, about Milady-“

Athos cocked his head to the side. “The King dismissed her. He didn’t want the Cardinal’s woman around.”

D’Artagnan looked around to find that Milady was no longer present.

“You missed that bit of conversation,” Aramis said into the younger man’s ear.

“I’ve missed a lot in the last few months, but I hope I can be there for my brothers.” They had to heal from their emotional wounds and find a new path that looked like could be leading to war, but they would meet the challenges together.

 

The end


End file.
